Lambert went on. "I suppose she is committed to him. She wrote me that she guessed she might as well; so long as she was a medium nobody else would ever want her—or something like that. I feel guilty, I'll admit, but you see how it was. The girl belongs to Julia, and since Clarke came into the family our correspondence has been pretty well confined to checks on my part and receipts on hers; but she's had plenty of money, professor. There wasn't any need of her going into anybody's house. She could have gone to the best hotels—"
"I don't see how you could have acted differently," said Serviss, with intent to comfort. "But I am sure that Viola"—he spoke the name with a little hesitation—"will eagerly go with you now. She begins to doubt Clarke and to realize the fearful mental peril in which she stands."
"That's what I don't understand, professor. This spiritualistic faith is mighty pretty on the face of it, but it seems to unhinge people's minds. I've known two or three to go 'locoed' with it; that's what kept me from interfering. It isn't for miners to monkey with; but I was in hopes that you would go into it. In fact, I was in hopes you'd got sort o' interested in Viola, and she in you, and that you'd help her someway."
"I am interested in her," replied Serviss, quickly, "and I want to help her; but so long as she is where she is, and acknowledges Clarke's claims, I can do nothing.—Here we are!"
As they drew up before the looming front of Pratt's house the miner whistled, "Must be one of those Wall Street pirates we read about. Nothing spirit-like about this castle, eh?"
"Nor about its lord."
"Why, this beats the Palace Hotel in Salina," he continued, his wonder increasing, then he smiled. "What'll you bet I don't catch the 'guides' napping! You send up word you're here and leave me out o' sight somewhere. I'd like to show Julia that her daddy don't know all that blows over the roof."
Again Serviss doubted the husband's ability to dominate the forces in opposition—so small and inoffensive did he seem and so ill-timed was his joke.
The colored man, more funereally dignified than before, showed them into the reception-room. "I'm afraid the ladies are out, sir, but if you'll wait a moment I'll see."
"Be sure Mrs. Lambert gets my card," said Serviss, with a note of warning in his voice. After the man left the room he turned to Lambert. "Pratt has a habit of intercepting the cards of visitors, and deciding who shall and who shall not see your daughter. He hates me and may order me out of the house." As they listened, the master's deep grumbling vibrated through the ceiling. "You see! my card has gone to him, not to your wife. The old ruffian is probably giving instructions to have me shown the door."